


Tales From The Charlie Verse

by Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales)



Series: Charlie Verse! [16]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Kid Fic, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-31 23:46:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6492580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/pseuds/Goodluckdetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Locus has an alien sword. Alien swords tend to come with baby bonuses. </p><p>In where Locus has a daughter.</p><p>This installment: Assorted Tumblr drabbles from this universe that has gotten way too big.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Locus stares at his daughter for a whole minute after she says it.

He has to be hearing things, he thinks. His brain must be echoing back his own words in his daughters tone to mess with him. But then Charlie tilts her head, and makes a clicking noise Locus recognizes as nerves and everything comes back into focus.

“What did you just say?”

“Um.” She’s speaking in her native tongue again. “Did I say it wrong? I’ve been practicing and I thought I got it right.”

She did not say it wrong. She said it perfectly and that’s what has Locus so off guard here, because he thought she would never be capable of this. English. Human speech in general. Her vocal cords weren’t equipped for it. 

It didn’t bother him; he spoke Sangeheli fine. But sometimes, when they hadn’t interacted with anyone for a few weeks, he found himself missing his own language. His own words. 

He wonders if she noticed or is just doing this to try to impress him.

“No, it was…good.” Good is an understatement, but English is failing Locus at the moment. “Perfect pronunciation.”

Charlie beams. “Really?”

 “Yes.” Locus takes a step forward towards her and kneels down so he’s her height. “Want to try once more?”

Charlie’s happy clicking noise doesn’t need translation. She takes a deep breath. Makes a few honks like she’s trying to clear her throat.

“Unfortunate.”

Locus isn’t sure what he’s more impressed by; the English itself, or that she managed to replicate his tone.

“Great job.” He reaches forward, pulling his little girl into a hug. He’s not one for hugs usually, the closeness makes him uncomfortable, but this is an occasion that should be celebrated. She hugs back, her skinny elbows digging into his sides. Locus closes his eyes and smiles.

 _Unfortunate._ It’s not Father, or Dad. But Locus? He’ll take what he can get. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie wants to drive.

“Charlie, you are a child, you cannot drive.”

The child, his daughter, doesn’t seem to be dissuaded by his argument, still jumping up and down in the drivers seat. She’s still small, bigger than a human five year old, but not big enough to reach the peddles of the Warthog Locus has acquired. Her mandibles curl inward, a sign of excitement.  

“I mean it. Get out of that seat at once.”

She glares at him for that, digging her claws into the seat. It takes everything Locus has to not throw his arms in the air in response. Of course she chooses to fight him on this. Driving. Not something minor, like not wanting to eat all of her dinner, or going to bed at the right time. 

“You don’t know how to drive.”

“ _Yes, I do_.”

No, she doesn’t, Locus thinks. She only thinks she can, because he got her a stupid earth video game one year ago, and in her mind, driving on a screen is the same as driving in reality. He hopes, for his mother’s sake, that he was not this stubborn as a child.

“Look,” he says. “I cannot let you drive for your own safety. But if you wish to sit in the passenger’s seat and watch, I will not object as long as you wear your seatbelt.”

He feels like a terrible father for suggesting it, even though air bags hold none of the dangers to Charlie as they would to a human infant. Charlie’s mandibles click for a second, mulling it over like he is asking her to make a decision that will effect all of mankind.

“ _Can I honk the horn_?”

Locus should say no; honking the horn will grab attention, and grabbing attention is the last thing an outlaw and an half alien child need. But the way she tones the phrase, the Sangheili words almost pleading, well, it makes his will crumble in ways he never thought possible. 

“Alright, but only when we aren’t near any settlements. Do you understand?”

Charlie’s honk is the human equivalent of a squeal. 

Locus cannot provide her as much as she deserves. But he can give her this at least.

A drive with fresh air, and the childhood fun of honking a horn. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares are complicated.

The Tucker Household Nightmare club met every night two or more residents woke up screaming.

Wash was the founding member, in the beginning, Junior and Tucker switching off to join him in the kitchen when they had their respective nightmares. Before Tucker and Wash got together, at least officially, those meetings would consist of burnt toast and lukewarm cups of water, words of comfort not directly said, but danced around as carefully as possible. After they got together, not much changed, except bodily contact was added into the equation, the meeting of those two members usually ending in cuddling on the couch, half-asleep, half awake. 

With Junior the meetings were more rare. He would wake up with a softer shout than most, half terrified from memories of a father not truly gone, and a plane crash that he shouldn’t remember but somehow did. Those meetings were a softer kind, the toast made with more care, the water given out to the teenager with ice cubs instead of right from the faucet. Wash never forced him to talk about it, instead distracting him onto other topics. Tucker took the opposite approach, willing to deal with night terrors head on when it came to his son’s health.

Those were the meetings. Tucker and Wash. Wash and Junior. Tucker and Junior. All three on the bad nights, the ones that seemed to shake the foundation of the house to their very core.

Then Charlie showed up. 

She would take the award for the household member whose scream was the loudest upon waking. 

The nightmare club shifted to make her fit, working around the little girl who spoke so strict and walked so carefully. Tucker, used to someone her size from what seemed an era ago, would pick up the little girl to go outside and watch the stars, the twinkle in the distance a distraction from orange nightmares that lingered in her mind. Wash would bring stories, stupid stuff, bright colored tales from Uncle Caboose even when he was too tired to keep his own eyes open.

And Junior. Junior would wrap his arms around this kid who reminded him so much of himself and keep the hug until she stopped crying.

It was only the days that all of them woke up at once that they once again met in the kitchen to munch at burnt toast and drink water straight from the tap.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being the last man standing? It runs in the family.

Grif finds her in her room, counting.

He had a feeling he’d find her here, after the news broke, courtesy of his daughter’s own efforts. It’d be all over the papers tomorrow, CEO illegal mines former massacre site for minerals. Normally Grif would be proud, taking down the man just like they taught her, but this time worry boiled in his gut.

Visiting a place that personal? With so many memories? To find that history forgotten? Well, it’d be traumatic for anyone. Especially a fourteen year old.

“Sup kid,” Grif says, walking in. Lauren is sitting on her bed, tablet in hand, and Grif can see the light flicker from the news report she’s watching. She doesn’t move when he walks over to sit down on her bed next to her. The headline in front of the drilling site on her screen is huge.

“ _Former_   _Pirate Massacre Site Scandal_.”

“Still watching it, huh?” He asks. Lauren nods. He watches the screen pan across a mining site built between ruined houses and rubble. 

“They got the number wrong.”

It’s the first thing she’s said since he walked in. Grif looks at her. “They did.”

“Yeah.” She reaches for the volume button on her tablet, turning it down so it’s almost a hum of noise. “They say one hundred and seventy three were killed with three survivors. It was one hundred and seventy five and one survivor. The other two died in the hospital.” A long pause.  “I know. I asked.”

Grif knows what that’s like. He asked too, when he was stationed on that base so many years ago, before Red team, before everything. When he woke up in a closet and found himself the only one left. 

“'Does it ever stop hurting?” Lauren asks, voice so very small. Her bravado is entirely gone. 

Grif wants to lie to her. Lying would be easier. But it wouldn’t be fair. So instead he throws his arm over his daughter’s shoulders. Lets out a long sigh.  

“No, you just make room for it.”

The hum of the newscast plays in the background.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lauren needs to lay off the booze.
> 
> Charlie needs to lay off the angst.

“Don’t panic but I think we might have accidentally gotten married…”

Charlie sighed, lifting up one of her oldest friends higher in her arms. Back when Lauren had suggested a night out on the town to celebrate Charlie being home for the summer, Charlie had thought it a good idea. Something that could potentially be fun, after the year they had.

Then Lauren had gone and drank an entire bottle of vodka. 

“We didn’t get married,” Charlie said, taking a step forward. The streets of New Armonia were still packed, but most make way for the giant alien and her human friend. “We went to a taco stand and got a burrito from a man in a bathrobe. You kept mistaking him for a priest.”

“No, I didn’t.” Lauren squirmed in Charlie’s arms a little. She never liked being carried. Instead she always preferred sitting on Charlie shoulders for the added height boost. Charlie would indulge her now if she thought Lauren could keep upright. “Cus if that’s the case, we just bought food from a sketchy guy in bath-wear?”

“It is, sadly the case.” Charlie would have preferred to get food from somewhere less odd, but it was hard to stop Lauren when she was determined on something. Even if that something would likely end in food poisoning. 

“Oh God, I’m going to hate myself tomorrow, aren’t I?” Lauren said, pressing her hand to her forehead. Charlie’s mandibles curled into her version of a smile. 

“I brought aspirin with me.”

“Have I mentioned I love you recently? Because you are the fucking best.”

Charlie paused in step. Since they’d broken up two years ago, she hadn’t heard those words in that tone, anything else but pure platonic emotion. It was hard not to read too much into her slur as evidence that maybe they could get back to that someday. Someday soon. 

Maybe when Lauren was sober, Charlie thought. That would be a good start.

“Charlie?” Lauren tilted her head. “Something wrong?”

“No,” Charlie said, glancing up at the stars barely visible through the light pollution. “Nothing is wrong at all.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simmons collapses on a Tuesday

Simmons collapses on a Tuesday.

It’s stupid, Grif thinks, stupid timing, because an entire system failure should not happen during a regular Tuesday. It shouldn’t happen when Grif’s not home to watch it happen, it shouldn’t happen when Lauren is so she can watch another parent (almost) die in front of her, it shouldn’t happen now, not when they’ve made it through everything. Because that shit is a special kind of unfair.

 _Life is unfair_ , part of Grif’s mind whispers, and he ignores it, because he isn’t here for that negativity. Not now. 

Simmons looks terrible, all washed out, and plugged into five different wires. A full wire replacement, that’s what the doctor’s have said, and it’s not the worst news he could have been given, but it’s not the best. Lauren is outside in the waiting room, and Grif feels sort of terrible leaving her hanging but he isn’t really up for forcing a smile right now. 

Years of raising Kai taught him that nothing scared a kid more than their parent looking terrified. 

“Come’on, asshole, wake up,” Grif says, looking at Simmons. “I’m not doing this single parenting thing. Not with our terror of a daughter.” A beat. “Simmons. Please. I can’t do this without you.”

Simmons doesn’t stir. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hospital trip.

Charlie showed up an hour after the made it to the hospital.

Lauren didn’t notice at first, too caught in in her shaking hands and terrible memories of static, the sound of Simmons hitting the floor like he was a puppet whose strings had been cut. It was only when Charlie walked up to stand in front of her, her shadow looming over Lauren like a shield, that the teen noticed her best friend. She was alone, a surprise, and her backpack was still over her shoulder. She likely came straight from school. 

“How is he?” Charlie asked, sounding a little out of breath. She must have run the entire way. Lauren looked down at her fingers, tangled together like a safety net. Her nails were bitten down almost entirely. She hadn’t even noticed she’d been picking at them.

“Don’t know,” she said. “He just collapsed….they won’t tell me much.” She pointed down the hallway where the ICU was. “Dad is in there now. He told me Dad is gonna need entirely new wiring.”

Charlie tilted her head. “And then Uncle Simmons will be fine?”

“If it works? Yeah.” The _if_ was the important word in that sentence, Lauren thought. “And if it’s just the wiring. If could also be his heart, or his entire support system, or-” She cut off, biting her lower lip. She looked into the subject of Simmons’ robotics enough to know how bad the chances of him surviving would be if it wasn’t just the wiring. And the chances of him surviving if it was only the wiring weren’t fantastic either. 50/50. No better than flipping a coin. Luck.

She had never been lucky. 

Charlie reached forward to grab Lauren’s shoulder, squeezing it tight. Lauren could remember doing the same to her, years earlier, when they were both kids, and Charlie woke up screaming almost every night she slept over. “It’s work. Uncle Simmons is lucky.”

 _So were my parents_ , Lauren thought. _And look what happened to them_. 

“Should I get you something to eat?” Charlie asked. “They have donuts in the cafeteria. The strawberry ones you enjoy.”

Lauren shook her head and reached out to grasp Charlie’s wrist. It was a meek gesture, something that made her miss the boldness that she usually wore like a shield. 

It was hard to keep up that shield when dealing with the fear of losing someone else again.

“Please don’t go.”

Charlie stayed with her until the rest of her aunts and uncles arrived. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is why you knock.

Lauren came home from school to find her Dads making out on the couch.

This was not entirely uncommon.

She sighed, leaning against the doorframe for a moment and rolling her eyes. At the age of fifteen, she was sure she’d witnessed enough of these “ _the daughter won’t be home for another five minutes quick before she gets back_ ” moments for a lifetime. They didn’t seem to notice and feeling this could get more mentally scarring the longer she let this pass, she knocked on the front door and coughed.

Simmons bolted up like someone had lit a fire under his ass. His face was a nice cherry red, probably from either the embarrassment or the canoodling, and Lauren wondered how he managed to get that red despite being half cyborg. Grif on the other hand didn’t move at all except for lifting his hand to run it down his face.

“Lauren, what have we told you about knocking?”

“That it's for Blue scum who are too afraid to face life without running in head first,” she said, throwing her backpack down on the ground. It made a nice thunk as it hit the wooden floorboards. “And I did knock, by the way. You two just didn’t hear. Should I bring a bullhorn next time?”

That was enough to get Grif to start blushing too

“Well this is awkward…” Simmons said, starting to untangle himself from the couch. “How about-”

Lauren held up a hand. “How about I go over to Charlie’s, chill there for a few hours and come back later?” Both of her Dads stared at her with wide eyes. “Okay? Awesome. Bye.” And with that she was gone, the door shut behind her.

“So,” Grif said a minute after she left. “Your libido gone too or-”

“Absolutely toast,” Simmons headed for the kitchen. “Want some pancakes?”

Grif followed after him a second later. 


	9. Chapter 9

Charlie is a curious child. 

Locus knows this. It’s an interesting trait, one he never remembered showing as a child, and while he knows it will likely prove troublesome given all his secrets, he can’t bring himself to discourage the habit. When she asks questions he can answer, he does as such, boiling it down into terms she can understand. When he cannot answer them, he downloads the information onto his data pad while in the nearest town, and brings it back for her to read. Often, when he comes home from getting food, he can find her pouring over the few books they’ve had, drawing in margins. Illustrations, she’d told him, when he scolded her on the practice. Every good book apparently needed illustrations.

As a four year old unable to draw in a straight line, Charlie’s illustrations are usually impossible to decipher. 

Her curiosity gets in trouble sometimes. Back when she was three she decided to comb through his room, an event that lead her to stumble on Locus’ (once Felix’s) supply of knives. It was a disaster narrowly avoided, she ended up only scratching herself in the foot, but having to apply stitches to the crying child later that night, Locus felt it was practically a natural disaster. She asks questions about his background as well, why she can’t go into town with him, why he is so skittish, and those questions, while not knives, are no less dangerous. He tries to give her the best answers as he can that won’t scare her (people after them, she’s too young) but it’s a losing battle. He knows he’ll have to provide something more substantial eventually. Let her know that her father is a monster.

But for now? Locus would prefer for her to believe otherwise. To protect his foolish heart.

(Felix would be horrified, to see how weak he is now.)

He thinks about this, heading back with a slab of some alien animal in his bag and his rifle slung over his shoulder. Hunting is easy where he settled down, and the locals don’t ask much about him, thinking he lives alone. It’s ideal. When he opens the front door to the house half hidden in the rocks of the mountainside he’s settled into, he hears nothing on the other side of the door. Charlie is likely taking her nap.

He hates leaving her alone. Back when she was smaller, he’d bring her with him strap her into an excuse for a child harness and carry her along. Use his cloaking feature to get around. It was a good set up until some folks caught sight of him while he was out. The incident had caused them to try to break into his house. They had to move. And Locus had to leave her home alone at four years old. 

He hates it. Hates having to leave her by herself, even if he has the place secure and able to contact her if anything goes wrong. But it’s the only way to keep her safe.

(A small part of Locus’ brain, the part that is scared and so very ashamed, knows there is one other way to keep his daughter safe. One other group of people who’d be up to the task. And he pushes it down because he is too selfish to let his daughter go.)

“Charlie,” he says, walking inside. The front room is empty and he looks around for a second, putting down his bag. His rifle is already unloaded and on safety (he’s no fool) and he places it in the mock safe along with the ammo which is out of Charlie’s reach, locking it. It’s where he started keeping the knives too. His helmet comes off last (he still despises taking the thing off, but she was  _ scared _ ) and looks around again. “Charlie?”

“Father.” Locus pauses. He hasn’t heard that tone since he caught her combing through his books off limit for her drawings. “I need help.”

The last sentence sends him running, because his brain goes to the worst after all these years. Her voice comes from his room, and he hopes she hasn’t found something dangerous Locus forgot to pack away. He was so sure he put everything dangerous out of reach He opens the door and looks inside to find Charlie-

Wrapped up in one of the nets he uses for hunting, looking rather pathetic.

It’s a sticky net, the kind that sticks to the ground to keep the prey trapped. He hasn’t used it often, but it’s in his supply for smaller game when he’s low on ammo. Charlie is almost drowning in it, the net far too big for someone her size. Her large brown eyes look at him, wide.

“I got stuck.”

Locus stares at her. Blinks. And then bursts out laughing.

It’s too funny not to. Locus is somewhat aware he shouldn’t laugh at his own daughter, but the scene in front of him combined with the relief she is not hurt makes laughter unavoidable. He laughs like he hasn’t in decades, back before he stained his hands with the blood of others, and when he recovers himself, Charlie is pouting at him.

“I apologize,” he says, with a slight wheeze. “Let me help.”

Untangling her takes a second, but it’s pretty straight forward. He folds up the net and places it up high where she can’t reach it (best to avoid this in the future) and when he looks down at her, he can’t help but smile. “Why were you in that net?”

Charlie tangles her fingers together. She’s gotten so much bigger over the years, almost three feet. Locus wishes he had pictures to track it. “I wanted to see how it worked.”

“And now you know.” Locus walks towards the door and when he doesn’t hear her follow, he looks over his shoulder. “Is something wrong?”

Charlie looks at him carefully, in that perspective way only kids do (not that Locus would know). She tilts her head. “You laughed. You never laugh.”

“Yes, I do.” He’s sure he’s chuckled at least once. Charlie shakes her head. 

“Not like that.” Her mandibles curl in for her version of a smile. “You should more often. You sound happy.”

Happy. It’s something he doesn’t deserve, Locus thinks. He doesn’t deserve a lot of things. But her words stick true. He smiles, small, but there.

“I suppose you’re correct. I shall endeavor to laugh more often.” 

“You can’t force yourself to laugh more. It’s not a job.” 

“Perhaps not.” He gestures to the kitchen. “I brought dinner.”

The mention of food has her off like a bullet. Locus watches as she goes, small feet clattering against the wood floor. It’s nice, this. Having a family. Something he won’t be able to keep forever. She’ll have to learn the truth eventually. She will learn of his past one day. She deserves the truth to know who he once was. 

But for now? Locus savors the brief moment of happiness for what it is. 

Something he does not deserve.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A coda to "Here There Be Monsters"

Simmons thought he was done with almost dying.

 

Honestly, he really hoped the near death experiences were over with until he hit sixty and more health problems than he could handle started showing up. He had enough of them in his first thirty years of living: surely he was overdue for a decade or two without. After ten years with Lauren around the house and clean check up after clean check up, he thought he might actually get his wish. 

 

Simmons should have known better. The universe has always been stubborn about giving him what he wants.

 

The doctors tell him the entire mess first, after he’s woken up and stayed awake for more than five minutes. They usher Grif out of the room to do so, and Simmons is about to argue when Grif actually goes, saying he had to piss anyway. The news they give him is worse than he expected. A full heart attack that left him needing a transplant. It’s the closest he’s gotten to death since Charon.

 

And here Simmons had been hoping the slight pain in his chest was because of acid reflux. So much for that. 

 

The transplant is already done, Simmons learns to his surprise. Apparently being a war hero put you high up there for hearts, even when you needed a fancy robotic replacement. Simmons is sure it’s the nicest piece of tech he actually owns, and starts thinking about getting it insured before he realizes how dumb of an idea it is. When they ask him if he has any questions, he only has one.

 

“How long was I out?”

 

The response has him swearing so loud that they can hear him in the hall. Almost two weeks. They’ve left his science club to a substitute teacher for two weeks. Simmons will be lucky if his lab is still intact, both at the school and at home. And speaking of home-

 

“Lauren-” Is what Simmons says when Grif comes back into the room, only a minute after the doctors leave. He mentioned her back when he woke up, but everything then had been pretty fuzzy and he couldn’t remember the answer. Grif sits in the chair next to his hospital bed and tucks his com into his pocket.

 

“Just called. She’s staying with Sarge. They’re driving her over now.”

 

“Sarge?”

 

“It was that or Tucker.”

 

Both men shudder. Tucker is a capable planet, but it takes a special amount of skill to wrangle an upset Lauren. Also a science lab. And a lot of space for explosions.

 

“How is she?”

 

“Freaked the fuck out. She’s been by but you’ve been pretty out of it.” Grif is silent for a moment, picking at the scruff on his beard. Which is Grif for “I am really not sure if I should tell you this and am debating it as we speak.”

 

Simmons is a very accurate Grif translator.

 

“What else is it?”

 

Grif stops scratching his beard, looks down at his hand and curses. He knows his own tells. It shows how exhausted he is, that he didn’t catch it off the bat. In fact, he looks worse than Simmons has seen him since Charon when they were both caked in enough bandages to do a reenactment of the Mummy.

 

Grif leans forward so his forearm is on the bed. He looks at Simmons. “She was the one who found you.”

 

For the second time that day, Simmons loud swearing can be heard from the hallway.

 

“She’s gonna be okay,” Grif tells him once he’s gotten Simmons to settle down. “Probably overprotective as fuck for a month or two, but she’ll bounce back as long as we keep an eye on her. You just gave her a scare. Gave me one too, now that we’re at it.” He looks at Simmons’ hospital bed and then glances at the door. 

 

When he looks back over at Simmons, he’s already trying to make room for Grif.

 

“The nurses are going to be pissed,” Simmons says as Grif lies down next to him, placing the pillows so Simmons is propped up. Grif’s hand is in Simmons hair. “This is only meant for one you know.”

 

“Kissing the nurses asses already.”

 

“Considering I’m going to be here another week, might as well. Maybe I’ll actually get something out of it.”

 

“Like what? An extra thing of jello?”

 

“I was hoping for pudding, actually.”

 

“...you might actually be onto something.”

 

They lie there like that for the next thirty minutes. If Simmons feels some tears drop into his hair he doesn’t mention it. Grif tells him about what he missed while he was out, his own way of saying “I missed you” and Simmons lingers on every word. 

 

When Lauren comes in, red in the face, carrying a stack of blankets, Simmons isn’t surprised when she drops them all to run to his side. She keeps a stoic face for all of fifteen seconds before she bursts into tears. 

 

Grifs have always been ugly criers.

 

“It’s alright,” Simmons says, letting her cry on his shoulder. Back when Lauren was five, he never knew what to do in these situations. Now it’s just practice. “Sorry for scaring you.”

 

“You’re a dick,” Lauren mutters into his shoulder between sniffles. Grif’s hand is still in his hair.

 

It’s not perfect. Not by a long shot. Perfect is it not happening in the first place. But as far as endings go for things like these, Simmons hopes this is as close to happy as he’ll get. 

 


End file.
